


I want to hold you close (soft breath, beating heart)

by passeridae



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asphyxiation, Bottom Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Breathplay, Clothed Sex, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Domestic Fluff, Face-Fucking, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rough Oral Sex, Slice of Life, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Top Reaper | Gabriel Reyes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-07 21:37:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21224606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/passeridae/pseuds/passeridae
Summary: Jack and Gabe are a happily married middle aged couple. Jack runs a garden centre, Gabriel teaches costume construction at the local community college. They raise chickens, grow most of their own food, and are aware as you can get of their carbon footprint. Having retired from ecological protest, they still do their bit to help work towards a cleaner future.Truly, things couldn't be more idyllic.





	I want to hold you close (soft breath, beating heart)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roughlycut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roughlycut/gifts).

> PLEASE SEE END NOTE FOR SPOILER-Y WARNINGS

The dawn light catches on the dew as Jack tromps back across the back garden, the chill in the air burning the last dredges of morning grogginess from his mind. The chickens cluck softly, freed from their coop for the day, the first of the summer flowers beginning to bud in the garden beds. The smell of jasmine is particularly strong, though it’ll soon be overshadowed by the budding roses.

The idyll is shattered, unfortunately, as Jack pushes open the back door, causing the hinges to loudly screech their displeasure into the stillness of the morning. Jack winces at the sound, trying not to jostle the eggs in his apron as all the muscles in his body tense. The birdsong abruptly cuts out, and from the kitchen, there’s the sound of laughter, before Gabe calls out, “Breakfast’s just about ready, babe, still haven’t oiled them huh?” 

Jack had meant to get to it a week ago, but now that spring’s sprung he’s been run off his feet. They both have, really. Gabe has the spring term, and a whole load of new students, and Jack’s gearing up for the busiest time of the year at his garden centre. Everybody wants new flowers in spring, even the people who shouldn’t be trusted with plants, and Jack feels the occasional pang of guilt as some of his flowers head off to their new homes. Between the regulars and kids trying their hands at something new, he’s been ordering and selling and advising from dawn to dusk. He’s even had to hire on persistent help this year, to his great frustration. Mostly for the tougher jobs, but even that does little to soothe his ruffled feathers. He’s not as young as he used to be.

He wanders into the kitchen, boards creaking under his bare feet in complaint. Carefully, he deposits the day’s eggs into their woven basket on the counter, and plants a kiss on Gabe’s cheek. He breathes in the warm scent of sleep, still heavy on Gabe’s skin, as he presses himself close behind his husband. Must’ve just woken. He’s so warm after the bracing chill of outside, Jack can’t help but snuggle closer. With another kiss he murmurs against Gabe’s neck, “Morning, love. Smells good.” It really does. Eggs, bacon, tomatoes, potato hash. Glorious. Precisely the thing for a chilly morning. Despite it being spring, hot days and all, mornings are still freezing while the soil warms, and a fry up is just the thing to get Jack going. Gabriel, on the other hand, will probably crawl back into bed as soon as Jack’s out the door, full belly and all. He only wakes this early to make sure that Jack’s fed — Jack really doesn’t deserve such a wonderful husband.

Before Gabe can ask, Jack releases him, albeit reluctantly, to pour their coffee (three sugars and cream for Gabe, one and a half for him). Coffee in hand, he uses his other to fetch plates from the cupboard, balancing them awkwardly on his forearm as he gulps the first half of his coffee down. Soon enough they’re settled at the table, food in front of them, listening to the birdsong that’s resumed out in the garden. Maybe they should put in a bird bath this year. Jack’s been reading up on them, and they do sound like a good way to encourage local birdlife...

They’re quiet as they eat, they always are at breakfast. It’s a pleasant silence, though, comfortable. Jack has his mind on the day ahead, and Gabe refuses to function before he’s had his first cup of coffee. Their feet touch under the table, and every so often Gabe rubs his foot against Jack’s ankle. As always, Gabe’s cooking is delicious, and he’s even spiced the hash with thyme this morning. Jack mixes his egg yolks in and groans at how good the taste is. The bacon is superb, too, perfectly crispy and with just the right amount of fat. The bear they’d got it from had been so temperamental, but Jack really couldn’t argue with the results. The marbling in the meat is perfect, and it’d taken to the smoke so well. Truly, he’s spoilt, having Gabe cook this every morning.

Once he’s finished shoving food in his mouth, he stands to fetch Gabe his second cup of coffee, stretching his back out as he does. “Helen’s producing soft eggs again,” he tells Gabe with a yawn as he adds the third sugar to the mug, “we may have to up their calcium.” The shells from the eggs that Gabe used in breakfast are already in the oven, desiccating, ready to be ground up and fed back to the chooks tomorrow. They’ve had soft shells before, over winter, but not for a while now. It’s frustrating that it’s started up yet again.

Gabe laughs, rests his head on his fist and takes a sip of his second coffee. The morning light catches on his face and he looks radiant and golden, “Babe, that’s because Jemima is a greedy guts and eats more than her fair share. There’s not much we can do about that unless you want roast chicken for dinner later this week.” He quirks an eyebrow at Jack, mimes eating a chicken leg. Jack snorts, mutters something about taking it under consideration. He won’t. He never does, he’s too attached to them. He didn’t even eat chicken back when he was eating white meat, no way he’d be able to kill one of the girls now that he knows them so well. Their curious clucking and excited warbles, the way they terrorise the neighbourhood cats, they’re wonderful. Gabe gulps down the rest of his coffee and fixes Jack with a serious look. “Speaking of meat,” he says, “we’re out of the bear bacon. We ate the last of it this morning.” Jack moans theatrically, pressing a hand to his heart as if in terrible pain.

“Guess we have to go hunting.”

* * *

Gabriel sits at the dining table after he’s eaten, reading the newspaper and lamenting over the idiocy of humanity. Another worker’s rights violation in a cotton mill, fast fashion is a curse, a child lost in the woods, unfortunate, an oil spill off the coast of South America, fucking hell, as if the coastline needed that, honestly why couldn’t they just move to renewable energy already. Jack and Gabriel have their solar panels, put energy back into the grid most days, it isn’t that hard. Jack half listens as he potters around to get ready, makes all the appropriate noises as Gabriel tuts. While Gabriel’s haranguing about the oil spill, though, he makes a surprised sound, and Gabriel turns to look at him. "We should see if Ingrid has anything going about that,” Jack tells him, pulling his shirt on, “it was always her wheelhouse, and it’s been far too long since we saw her and Torb."

It has been, approaching two years now. The last time they’d seen the Lindholms had been when they’d been neck deep in planning a strike to protest unsafe practices in a chemical waste facility. Ingrid’s brainchild, and an effective one too. Only took a week before the corporation agreed to improve things, to her strict instructions. “We should invite them to come here on a holiday, when Ingrid’s between teaching. It’ll be a nice getaway for them,” Gabriel offers, putting the paper down with a soft rustle and beckoning Jack close. 

Jack’s by the table in two steps, looking at the paper, even as Gabriel clicks his tongue and starts doing up the buttons on Jack’s shirt. “Did I make the buttonholes too small for you, babe? You can never seem to do your shirt up.” 

Jack snorts and buries his face in Gabriel’s hair, rubbing against the soft strands like a cat. “I’ve worn my shirt open since before I met you, love, one day you’re gonna learn to leave it be.”

“Well today is not that day, and you’re now wearing your shirt properly, congratulations.” He finishes doing up the last button, lets Jack snuggle. Probably stealing his warmth again. “Going to do a pot roast for us tonight, save me the trouble of cooking dinner?”

Jack hums, looking at the clock, “Yeah, I have time to put one on before I go. Is there meat in the freezer?” Gabriel nods, giving Jack’s waist a squeeze, then going back to his paper. Slow mornings are truly a glorious blessing. He doesn’t have anywhere to be until this afternoon — his class always starts late because art students are useless in the morning, and he was sick of people falling asleep at their desks. He’s also useless in the mornings, but he was hardly going to write that on his request form. He turns to look at the clock himself. This morning, though, Jack’s leaving later than usual. That’s strange. He’s normally gone before the sun’s fully up. And he’d just said he has time to prepare dinner as well, that would put him over an hour beyond when he’s usually out of the house. 

“Shouldn’t you have opened up shop by now?” Gabriel asks, still eyeing the clock above their kitchen window. His paper sits forgotten on the table. Jack’s already puttering around, chopping vegetables and searing the frozen meat before he throws it all in the slow cooker. He looks so cute being domestic, that despite the niggling worry growing in the back of his mind, Gabriel doesn’t resist the urge to smack Jack’s ass as he walks by. He gets bonked with a carrot for his effort. Jack definitely picked that habit up from Gabriel’s mother last time they visited, she was queen of vegetables as corrective devices. He still can’t look at celery in the same way, all these years later.

While Gabe’s busy rubbing the dirt from his curls, Jack replies, “I asked Jesse to open up shop for the morning,” like it’s no big deal. Jesse. That’s a new name. Last Gabriel had heard, the casual staff of Jack’s shop was entirely female. And Jack trusts him enough to open up the shop without him, too. Something possessive surges through his chest, makes his skin prickle hot and his jaw clench. “Jesse, huh?” he asks, trying to keep his tone casual, “He a new hire?”

Jack throws the ingredients in the slow cooker, presses buttons, then gathers the kitchen knife and chopping board and starts to wash them in the sink. His voice is muffled somewhat by the running water, but still audible as he responds, “Yeah he is, I needed some muscle for the summer to move the mulch and plants around. Man’s built like a brick shithouse, he’s really saving my back this season.”

Gabriel tries not to let the rising spike of jealousy show on his face, and must succeed because Jack doesn’t say anything about it as he wipes the utensils down and puts them back in place. The soft clack of wood against tile and Jack’s soft humming are the only sounds as Gabriel digests this new information. He’s blurring the newsprint with the sweat on his palms. Checking the clock once again, Jack makes a ‘gah’ noise and makes a grab for his jacket. “I’ll be back for dinner. Six or so. Pick a town and we can head out right after?”

Gabe hums his assent, still half in thought, kissing Jack as he leans in, grabbing Jack’s hand to press a second one at the pulse point of his wrist. He’s disproportionately gratified by the way a blush rises in Jack’s cheeks at the action, still as bright as the day they met. “See you then, babe.”

As soon as the sound of Jack’s truck has left the drive, he stands up from the kitchen table, invigorated, and starts to plan his attack. He can do his lesson plans later, this is more important. No new hire is going to upstage him.

* * *

Jack arrives at work to Jesse behind the counter, animatedly talking to Bertha about rose care. It’s baffling that this kid wanted the job, but Jack’s happy to have him. His back aches something fierce in the mornings now, and somebody else shifting the mulch and soil is a well deserved respite. Turning the compost heap on its own was enough to send Jack’s spine into a rage, let alone the heavy lifting for the pre-packaged stuff. All the regulars seem to love him, too, to his great relief. Bertha, in particular, can be a troublemaker. She’d told him to fire his last three helpers, right in front of their faces, but she is patting Jesse on the arm as he says something funny like he’s an old friend. “Jack!” she calls as she spots him in the doorway, “This is a good one, you should keep him!” 

Jack laughs, always happy to see Bertha in a spry mood, “I plan on it, if he’ll stay. No complaints from me.” She reminds him so much of his grandmother sometimes he can barely breathe. And she was one of his first customers when he opened his shop, to boot. Every year, she wins the town’s flower judgements without fail, had done for as long as anyone could remember. The first year Jack and Gabe had moved to town, Jack had entered some of his own, convinced of an easy win. Bertha had soundly trumped him with her roses. Nevertheless, she was impressed with what Jack had managed to grow in only a year, and with her approval, the garden centre was a runaway hit once it opened. Turns out word of mouth was still a pretty strong way to get customers, if they came from the right mouth.

With a final peal of laughter, Bertha gives Jesse one final pat on the arm and an approving nod, before heading off with her walker. A maidenhair fern is perched proudly on the seat. 

“She passed off the last one too, huh?” Jack asks once she’s safely out of earshot. At Jesse’s confused look, Jack explains, “Bertha makes excuses to come in and check on how things are doing here, make sure I’m keeping up with it all. She gives the ferns she buys to her nieces and nephews so that she can buy more.” Jesse coughs from the force of his laugh, trying to muffle it, then gives in and smiles widely. 

“Are all your customers like that?” he asks, “I thought she was gonna proposition me then and there.” 

Jack’s grinning too, even as he tells Jesse, “She caused the last three assistants I hired to quit, so I think you’re just special.”

“Quit?” Jesse whispers, confusion evident on his face. Jack pats him on the back companionably, then directs Jesse over to where the current compost heap needs turning telling him to fetch a pitchfork. While he stands behind the counter and does some of the day’s accounting, Jesse flips the waste over, occasionally asking a question about the shop or the compost itself. Jack does have to admit, both of them are fairly non-standard, but being a small business means that he can run things in a more environmentally friendly way. All the green waste from plants trimmed on-site, as well as kitchen scraps from various houses in the community, go into the compost, which is then a free item for those who contribute. Buying plants or having given some of the original matter, it doesn’t matter to Jack. The important thing is that it’s reused.

Once the numbers start to swim in his vision, Jack puts his pen down and turns to check on how Jesse’s doing. He’s finishing up with the compost, and has unbuttoned his flannel shirt at some stage to reveal a white undershirt that’s nearly translucent with sweat. Gabe is going to be furious, if they ever meet. And knowing Gabe, that’ll be sooner rather than later. Jesse sees Jack looking over and grins crookedly, asking, “How’m I doing, boss?”

“Doing great, Jesse,” Jack calls back, rubbing at the bridge of his nose to ease the ache of staring at numbers too long. “Once you’re done with that, have you ever repotted a plant before?”

“Can’t say I have, but I’m happy to learn.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

* * *

After Jesse had finished up with the compost, Jack’d shown him how to re-pot some of the plants which were outgrowing their current living arrangements. Most of the plants in Jack’s nursery don’t need to be repotted — they’re only with him for relatively short amounts of time, a season or so, plus he uses biodegradable pots for everything small so that they can be planted direct in the ground. No plastic waste, plus it prevents root shock. Everybody wins.

Jack explained why he kept some plants in ceramic as he directed Jesse towards the back of the shop, where a few small trees were located. Mostly it had to do with size — after a set point, most of the biodegradable pots buckled. He illustrates the point by overpacking one of the larger biodegradable pots, showing Jesse how they split at the seams. The dirt feels good on his hands, under his nails. That education done, he transplants one of the trees into a new pot himself, showing Jesse how it’s done, pointing out the important parts as he goes. After all that, Jesse seems confident enough that he knows what he was doing to be left with the rest of the job, and Jack had to hurry to the other end of the shop where the knitting circle was setting up amongst the flowers for their weekly morning tea. 

When he’d started the shop, he’d meant for it to be a community-oriented space, and the one that had grown around him was just as beautiful as his plants. He spends some time chatting with the people in the group — older women, some new parents, a couple of university students with brightly coloured hair — before he’s called away to take a call and help someone pick which bromeliad to get for their sick niece. After that, there’s a slew of small tasks that he bounces between, and before he knows it his stomach is growling audibly.

Jack’s in the middle of explaining to Jesse why it’s important not to water the plants before four in the afternoon when it happens, and Jesse visibly startles at the sound. “Was that your stomach, boss?” he asks, amazed. “Have you eaten at all today?” Before Jack has a chance to respond, he continues, “I could go and get you a burger from the diner a few blocks away? I’ve eaten there a couple of times now, it’s good.”

He’s so eager to please. Sometimes, Jack’s reminded of an overly enthusiastic retriever, excitedly wagging its tail. He puts a hand on Jesse’s arm, which causes the man to shut his mouth with an audible click. “Thank you for the kind offer Jesse, but I’m fine,” he softens the rejection with a smile. “And besides, I don’t eat any meat that I haven’t hunted myself. Factory farming is terrible for the environment, you know.”

“Hunting your own meat? That’s real old fashioned of you.”

They’re still chatting companionably as Gabe waltzes in through the front doors of the shop, lunch in hand. He spies them almost immediately and is gaze hardens as he sees the two of them, standing close, talking like old friends. The jealousy from this morning rises again, higher and higher. He forcibly relaxes his shoulders, loosens his stride, and makes his way over to where the two are standing. There’s no way that Jack will hear his approach with the noise surrounding him, perfect.

Jack’s so caught up in explaining the hunting laws that govern their state, that he’s paying no attention to his surroundings and as such startles when arms wrap around his waist to pull him back against a solid chest. He twists, flails, then makes an exasperated noise as he realises that his captor is in fact his wonderful, insufferable husband, who has a shit-eating grin on his face as he pulls Jack to rest against his chest. “Hey there, babe,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to Jack’s neck, “Made you lunch.” The touch is electric, and Jack melts into it, baring his neck before he can think. Behind him, Gabe can see Jesse going red and looking away.

A gasp and titter from somewhere near the knitting circle reminds Jack that they’re in the middle of his shop, and he tenses again, elbowing Gabe until they both start to move towards the employee area. “What’s the occasion?” he asks as he picks up the bag of food from the counter and sticks his head inside for a sniff, “Oh wow, that smells good.”

“Mm, no occasion,” Gabe replies, opening the ‘Employees Only’ door, “Just wanted to see you before the horror of my Thursday class.” Jack doesn’t see the final possessive look that Gabe levels at Jesse before the door closes, but he does feel the hand on his ass. He knows Gabe well enough to lean into the gesture as the door slams shut.

* * *

Jack sets the bag in front of Gabriel and sits himself down at the tiny table while Gabriel cracks open the containers. The contents smell rich and spiced and absolutely delicious, and Gabe can see Jack’s mouth start watering by the wince he makes. “Oh my god, I love you,” he tells Gabriel with fervour, grabbing for a fork and digging in. The meat melts on his tongue and he makes an obscene sound as he swallows, immediately going back in for another bite. Gabriel smiles at him, smug, pleased by Jack’s response. They both get such a rush when Gabriel gets jealous like this. Reminding everyone who Jack belongs to. Jack kicks Gabe’s ankle under the table to get his attention, then threatens with his fork, “I’m going to eat yours too if you’re not careful, and then I’ll be useless all afternoon.” 

Duly threatened, Gabe starts eating as well. “How’s your planning going?” Jack asks between mouthfuls. “Any surprises this year?”

“Mmm, smoothly for the most part. The cohort this year is small, which always makes things easier, and there’s this one talkative girl, Hana, who’s great at encouraging the rest of the students to chime in. Saves me a lot of work.”

Jack steals a chunk of potato from Gabriel’s meal and quirks an eyebrow. “You’re reusing last year’s lesson plans, aren’t you.” It’s not a question, Jack knows Gabriel well enough to know he won’t change the plans if he doesn’t need to. He pops the stolen potato into his mouth, eyes closing in bliss as he chews. 

They chatter about Gabriel’s classes as they eat, about the students and assignments and marking loads. Gabriel doesn’t have any tutors for his course, doesn’t trust them to teach the subtly important elements in costume design, so is already getting to know the kids pretty well between lectures and studio sessions. Their knees knock under the tiny table, they barely have to lean forward to hear the other. Gabriel runs his fingers over Jack’s wrist on the table, just to watch him shiver. 

Once they’re done with the main meal, Gabriel unveils another container, hidden away in his bag, which holds beautifully cut fruit and melon balls. “All my favourites today. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous,” Jack jokes, a mean little smile in the corner of his lips. 

Gabriel scowls at Jack's prodding, grabbing at Jack's wrist and using it to tug Jack around the table until he’s seated in Gabe’s lap, so that Gabe can feed him the choicest bits of fruit as he sucks a vibrantly purple hickey on to the skin of his neck. "Should I be jealous, babe?" he growls into Jack's ear. "You were all over him when I arrived, and with his shirt unbuttoned and hair mussed — he looked you’d already fucked him." Jack softens in his lap, letting his head thump back on Gabriel’s shoulder. He’s warm against Gabriel’s chest, squirming ever so slightly as Gabriel continues to murmur in his ear, "My little harlot, unable to keep your hands to yourself. What am I to do with you?"Jack nuzzles under Gabriel’s jaw, places a soft kiss on his throat. Gabriel can feel his smile against the soft skin. He pushes, "Maybe we just need to get rid of him, remove the temptation altogether." Jack’s smile flattens, and he pulls back from his position draped over Gabriel. 

"Gabe." Jack's face is serious, no longer pleased with their game. He raises one hand to cup Gabriel’s cheek, to soften his words. "Love, that's too much. I need to have help here, especially if we're going to keep hunting - my back can’t stand doing both. It’s hiring help or giving up hunting. You know that, we've talked about it." Gabriel bites his tongue, rather than reply immediately, the shock of pain helping to centre him. He carefully places the fork on the table, puts his hands on Jack’s waist and starts rubbing small circles into the fabric of Jack’s shirt. Jack is his. Jack is here with him, not out there. 

"I know we have, babe, I know. I just don't like it." 

Jack sighs. "And you think I do? I've run this place alone for ten years but now my body's decided enough's enough.” His face does something complicated and resigned, “It grates for me, too." Jack loops one arm over Gabriel’s shoulder and pulls him close, so they’re pretzeled together in a loose hug. “Nobody could replace you, love. Not ever.” Gabriel’s heart’s beating far too fast, there’s no way Jack can’t feel it. No way he can’t know how affected Gabriel is by this.

It takes arduous minutes for his heart to return to its regular pace. Jack waits patiently, curled around Gabriel, breathing softly into the curve of his neck. One of his hands is still on Gabriel’s face, cupping his jaw and curling around to the hairs at the back of his neck. Gabriel breathes in the scent of dirt, and sweat, and spice. "I'm sorry I went too far,” he tells Jack, “but I'm not sorry for being jealous." 

“I would never ask you to be sorry for that, love. It’s as much a part of you as your morning breath.” Jack winks to make the joke doubly clear, his laugh muffled as Gabriel surges forward to kiss him. When they do emerge from the back room, Jack’s neck is covered in vibrant purple marks, and Gabriel looks intensely self satisfied. 

Jack walks Gabriel to his car to give him a final goodbye kiss before class. Jesse can’t look him in the eye for the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

Gabriel gets back from his Thursday classes at six thirty, vaguely headachey after hours of chatty students and bright lights, to the house smelling herbal and fragrant and the faint sounds of Jack humming downstairs. He kicks his shoes off by the door, hangs his keys on his hook, and pads over to the basement door. Jack’s on his knees, scrubbing away at the floor with a coarse bristled brush, giving Gabriel a wonderful view of his ass as he works the scalding water over the concrete. Gabe sits on the topmost stair and enjoys the show, as Jack sings along to some pop song from the radio. Something about improper use of construction equipment from the sounds of things.

Eventually, Jack realises he’s home, but not until after he’s finished the job and is turning back towards the stairs, bucket and brush in hand. “You asshole, how long have you been there?” he asks without heat, twisting side to side to crack his back. 

“A little while,” Gabe replies, watching Jack flex. God, the lines of his torso as he moves are fantastically appealing. Lunch was just an appetiser, a tease, and now Gabriel is ravenous. “Long enough to appreciate the view.”

There’s something warm in his belly, the anticipation of the hunt, a lingering concern about Jack’s new employee, the enjoyment he gets from watching Jack work. Mixing together into something heady. “C’mere.” He beckons towards Jack, who stops his stretching and makes his way up the stairs, stumbling as Gabe grabs his hips and tugs him closer. “God, you looked so good, hard at work.”

“Who’s fault is that, hm?” Jack asks, running his fingers over Gabe’s face, a smile on his lips, “Could it be my idle husband who’d rather watch me work than lift a finger to help?”

Gabe kisses him, slow and deep, tugging Jack closer as his tongue dips into his mouth. His next kiss is to the corner of Jack’s lips, then his jaw. “Let’s not assign fault when there’s nothing wrong with the picture,” he murmurs in Jack’s ear, kissing behind it and down his neck. The hickeys from lunch are still purple against his skin, and he sucks a few more into Jack’s throat for good measure.

Jack gasps, arches into the pressure, then pushes against Gabe’s shoulders, putting space between them. “Don’t you think this would be better timed after the hunt, love?”

Gabe isn’t deterred, hands sliding down Jack’s sides to grope at his ass. “Hm, now seems like the perfect time. I have my husband between my legs and a half hour to spare, what more could I need?” He wriggles one hand up under Jack’s shirt, petting at the sweat-damp skin, feeling Jack soften under his hands.

Despite how his body gives in, Jack sticks to his guns. “Some bacon curing in the basement, I hope. Don’t want you to get too distracted before we head out.” Gabe grunts, but doesn’t stop his motions. Seeing that that particular course of action isn’t going to work, Jack changes tack. He stops pushing Gabe away, lets himself melt into the embrace, tucks his head into Gabe’s shoulder. His voice presses into Gabe’s skin, low and rumbling and evocative. “Wouldn’t it be so much better to have me after we’ve hunted, love? Getting to _ride_ that high of a successful kill. You can do whatever you want to me, no time pressure, no hurry. We’ll have all night.”

Gabe’s grip tightens, reflexively, his teeth dig sharp pinpricks in Jack’s neck. “I can’t refuse an offer like that, can I?” Gabe growls. “You little tease.”

Jack pulls back, and this time Gabe lets him go. His grin is crooked, and real, and intimate. “Only for you, love, now come have dinner. The sooner we get going the sooner you can have me.”

Gabe’s gaze is heavy on Jack the entire way through dinner, as they chat about their afternoons, as they lock up the birds, as they shower and dress for the night ahead. If Jack stretches, shows off his broad shoulders and slim waist more than strictly necessary as they’re dressing, then that’s for him to know.

* * *

Tonight, they’re heading out to a club that Gabe picked, out a city over. They’ve been before, both socially and otherwise, though nowhere near often enough to be regulars. It’s known for its bears, along with its ties to the leather scene — as an added bonus, it’s big enough that there are lots of newcomers, that two new faces won’t be noticed in the crowd. For all the benefits small towns offer, anonymity is not one of them. Jack and Gabe try not to hunt in the same place twice, no need to be too predictable with who they nab or where they nab them from after all. That being said, however, it can be hard to find good places for hunting bears these days. The fitness craze has really slimmed down their options. And their last cut of bacon had been so good, it seemed silly to go with anything else.

Gabriel’s decided that Jack’s driving them there, which means he doesn’t have much of a chance to ogle at Gabriel who’s dressed for the occasion, in skintight leather and a compression shirt that leaves nothing to the imagination. Jack loves Gabe’s leather pants, how utterly obscene they look wrapped around his thighs, and he swears that having to watch the road rather than Gabe in the passenger seat is a particularly cruel form of torture. Jack himself is dressed far more conservatively, in dark jeans and a black button up shirt. Dressed up enough to blend in, not enough to be noticed.

Because Jack’s driving, though, he does get to pick the music. Gabriel scoffs at Orville Peck, as always, and they rotate through three artists before they settle on one that they can both tolerate for the hour’s drive. Everybody always thinks that Gabe is the one who likes pop in their relationship, but in reality it’s Jack. If Gabe had his way, they’d never listen to anything but classic rock and darkwave. Gabe makes a questioning sound as Jack snorts, darting his eyes over to Gabe as he says, “Remember when Ana tried to talk to you about Beyoncé on that road trip we took for the Fossil Fuel Collective? For half an hour, before she realised that you had no idea who she was talking about.”

Gabe’s eyebrows jump as he snorts. “Your fault for playing so much Beyoncé on that drive, babe, you were obsessed. No wonder Ana assumed we knew who she was.” Jack can’t deny it. He had been deeply in a Beyoncé phase for most of his twenties, and there had been many a car trip that had ended in Gabe distracting him with teasing touches so he could change the music. 

Jack nods sagely, tapping his thumbs on the steering wheel. “Yes, I’m the one who got all the Beyoncé knowledge in our relationship. It has to be siloed, otherwise it’d be too powerful.” 

Gabriel’s chuckle fills the car, low and soft. He puts his hand on Jack’s thigh and squeezes, heat seeping through the material of his jeans. “See, you understand why I can never learn anything more than her name. Left at the next set of lights.” 

They don’t use their phones when they head out on hunts like this. They won’t get caught, haven’t yet, but it makes sense not to be idiots about things, so Gabe sits with a street directory open over his thighs and calls out when Jack needs to turn. They’ve entered the city, now, so he’s needing to do so more frequently, until eventually he tells Jack to pull over. They’re a block away from their destination or so, close enough to breathe in the fumes of the city just outside.

“Good luck,” Jack turns to Gabe, finally able to look his fill. Gabe smiles, a sharp thing, full of teeth, reaches out to pull Jack over the centre console and kiss him deep and filthy. Before Jack can even respond, he’s out of the car and slamming the driver’s side door, leaving Jack alone with swollen lips and distractingly tight pants. And he calls Jack a tease. Jack doesn’t even have anything to distract himself with while he waits for Gabe to get back.

* * *

The club is packed for a weeknight, men sprawled across every surface like walruses coming up to sun themselves on the shore. Mostly they’re roaming in packs, but there are a few loners that Gabriel tags as potential targets before lazily sauntering over to the bar to get a drink. The bartender, waifish compared to the rest of the room, takes his order with an amused smile and soon he's leaning back with a Shirley Temple in-hand. No need to muddy things with alcohol, and the sight of a bright pink drink makes it pretty clear he’s not here as a bear himself. No need to be subtle.

He's well aware of the picture he makes, arched as he is, the clean lines of him only accentuated by his clothes. He tilts his head back to show the line of his neck as he swallows. People are looking him over, sizing him up, deciding if he's their type. If he didn't have Jack, he'd be relishing the attention, already picking someone to take home for the night. It was how most of his nights ended in uni. With Jack, he still is, just not in the expected sense. One of his potential targets is looking him over with particular want, which Gabriel marks down in his head — a point in his favour. He makes eye contact and winks back at him. Before he makes a final decision, though, it's time to dance. 

The dance floor is moderately full, and, most importantly, in the centre of the space. From here, Gabriel can see all his potential targets, and they can watch him too if they so desire. Coming in and leaving immediately with someone, that's suspicious, and Gabriel really doesn't want to get pulled over for perceived prostitution. But coming in and having a good time, then leaving? Well that's what bars are for, aren’t they? The music is just his type, and it’s easy to let his body work on autopilot as he scopes things out. He keeps an eye on his watch as he dances, decides on half an hour before he makes a move. The bear that was checking him out earlier, clearly intoxicated, makes his way onto the dance floor after only eleven of them, passing through the crowd until they’re face to face. 

Up close, he’s exactly what they want for this hunt. Rotund, well marbled, tall enough that there’s a good amount of meat on him. Sufficiently sexually aggressive to be easily lured outside and into Jack’s grasp. Gabriel smiles, coquettish, looks up at him through his lashes. Turns away just a little. An act just shy enough to be alluring to the right sort of person. The sort of person who takes ‘no’ for ‘convince me’.

Gabriel’s never told Jack about his first kill. Subsequent ones, yes, the ones which he’d planned and prepared for. But the first one, that he keeps close to his chest, never to tell a soul. His sister had come home one morning, tear tracks clear on her face, whispered to him like it was a secret what had happened at that college party. Given him a face and a name. Gabriel had been underage — but when had that ever stopped anyone from a college party? — and his fresh-grown beard meant he looked just old enough to be there. He’d meant to confront the guy, in front of everyone, but... nobody questions an overdose at a college party either. They happen. Clearly an accident — kid didn’t know when to stop. If his sister had suspected anything, she’d never said. 

Suffice to say, Gabriel has a secondary criteria when he goes to hunt, beyond filling their pantry. And this bear fits it perfectly. He crowds into the space Gabriel has opened up on the floor, grabbing at his arm and yanking him close. Gabriel resists the disgusted look that wants to crawl over his face at the smell of cheap alcohol on the man’s breath, but only barely. Honestly, the least he could have done was pop a breath mint before he sauntered over here. Still without having said a word, the man pulls him even closer and starts kissing him. 

It’s unpleasant. The taste of cheap alcohol is just as bad as the smell, and the man has no technique. Gabriel attempts to respond, to improve things by swapping the angle, and the grip on his arm increases in strength. Right, then, he sees how it is. A glance at his watch shows him that not even twenty minutes have passed, but honestly, Gabriel isn’t willing to give _this_ another ten. He breaks from the kiss to ghost his breath along the bear’s jaw, whisper in his ear, “Want to get out of here and go back to mine?” He makes sure that his mouth brushes against the hinge of his jaw, the lobe of his ear. 

The bear grunts, nods, and just like that, the second stage of the hunt begins.

* * *

Once Gabe’s left the car, Jack finds a parking spot then waits, reading another chapter of his book on the history of potato farming before chucking his e-reader into the glovebox, unable to concentrate. The club's music tonight seems to be an endless pulse of Depeche Mode, which all blurs together after a while into a haze of bass and suggestive lyrics. He breathes deep, lets the excitement of the hunt slowly build inside him in a way he’s been avoiding all day, piggybacking on his arousal. He can’t help but imagine what Gabe’s doing inside, enticing someone out to join them. A drink here, a touch there, an eyelash flutter. He’s wonderfully seductive when he wants to be. He rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck. His back hurts, just a little, but it fades to the back of his mind as he lets his anticipation take the reins.

With all this buildup, he’s more than ready when Gabe reappears outside the club, his lines sinuous, enticing, gently tugging a bear by his belt loops. Towards the alleyway they’d decided on as a rendezvous point. The bear’s hands are all over Gabe, feeling up his sides, his ass, and Jack’s aware enough to know that he’s blisteringly, painfully angry that someone else is putting their hands all over Gabe. The anger is useful, at least, and he lets it boil inside him, lets it fill him with energy and purpose as he starts to make his way down the street as well. Adrenaline with teeth, waiting to sink into flesh.

Gabe’s pinned to the dirty brick by the time he gets to the mouth of the alley, and Jack sees red. Everything moves in flashes, as it often does when he lets his anger take the reins — a snarl, the bear in a headlock, ineffectual blows landing on his thighs as the man weakens, becomes limp, then droops entirely. Gabe watching, hungrily, unmoving from his spot against the wall, as Jack tightens a leather dog collar around the man’s neck, tight enough that he won’t be regaining consciousness any time soon. One of the benefits of hunting bears is that it fits perfectly with his outfit, nobody will look twice. Jack pants, twitches, muscles still coiled tense after the flurry of activity.

With a self satisfied noise, Gabe pushes himself off the brick, stalking towards Jack and pressing a biting kiss to his lips. He tastes of the other man, and Jack wrenches his head away, nose wrinkling in distaste. Cheap beer and jerky, disgusting. Gabe laughs at his response, grabbing the back of Jack’s neck and pushing him into another deep kiss. Jack can feel Gabe’s fingertips pressing against his vertebrae, not letting him escape as Gabe bullies his way into Jack’s mouth, forcing the taste of the other man into him. Jack fights not to snarl, nostrils flaring, fingers curling tight on Gabe’s hips, lets it happen.

Once he’s satisfied, Gabe pulls away and grabs one of the limp arms of their prey. Other than his flushed lips, he looks far more put together than Jack feels. “Come on, let’s get this meat home. I’ve been thinking about what I want to do to you, and I’m tired of waiting.” As always, Jack’s helpless but to obey.

Nobody stops them on their way back to the car — they look like any other group trying to get a drunk friend home. Part of it is undoubtedly their age, and the fact they’re all male. If they had a woman between them, it’s so much more likely that people would ask uncomfortable questions. As it is, it’s late enough that it’s believable that their bear has been out and drinking for hours, and if anyone asks, they just have to tell them that their friend never knows when to stop. It’s a common enough story that people smile back, laugh, and wish them luck. 

Bundling him into the car is slightly more of a trial, and Jack has to stop and hiss as the adrenaline fades somewhat and his back reminds him that it doesn’t like lifting weights. Especially heavy weights, which he’s moving in odd directions. Gabriel doesn’t say anything, but puts a soothing hand on Jack’s back and takes over more of the levering of the unconscious body. Jack wants to hiss, wants to take over again, to let Gabriel watch as he deals with the bear alone. It’s how it’s always been since they got together, it’s how it should be. But, at heart, he’s a realist and he knows he’s likely to injure himself if he tries. And that would ruin the entire day. 

So he lets Gabriel finish bundling the bear in the car, then hands over the keys so he can drive them home. Jack gets to sit in the back, which is easier on his spine when it’s like this, then ties and gags the unconscious man, just in case. Sometimes, with more fat on the neck, the collar doesn’t press hard enough to cut off circulation, and they hardly want him having a chance to escape now. Not when they’ve put so much work into getting him. Not when he had his paws all over Gabe. Only Jack’s allowed that privilege.

* * *

By the time they make it home, Gabriel’s just about ready to jump Jack, victim be damned. He loves to watch as Jack hangs them, as he slits their throats, but tonight he knows that he won’t be able to restrain himself if he does. And he saw how Jack was wincing before, fucking on the concrete would be profoundly bad for his back. “Meet me upstairs when you’re done,” he tells Jack as he turns the engine of their car off, making eye contact in the rear-view mirror. Jack looks surprised, for a moment, then understanding floods his face and he nods.

Gabriel takes his time getting up the stairs, savouring the quiet moments before Jack comes to join him. It’s like the still moments before a hunt, really, the same sort of energy thrumming through him. He’s been half hard since he saw Jack in the mouth of that alleyway, and he presses his hand against his cock as he thinks of the wildness in Jack’s eyes, the sharp snarl of his teeth, the savagery with which he fell on their unsuspecting prey. By the time Jack’s made it upstairs from the basement, Gabriel’s unbuttoned his pants and is leaning back on the bed, indolent, hand working lazily. Jack stops in the doorway, breathing hitching at the sight in front of him. He’s flushed from exertion, soft pink dusting his forehead all the way down to his chest. He looks profoundly edible.

“Come here,” Gabriel orders. Jack almost trips over his own feet hurrying towards the bed, stopping still between Gabriel’s open legs. Gabriel hooks one calf around Jack’s knee, pulling him close enough that Jack’s legs are pressed against the mattress. “You know, I’ve spent half the day thinking about what I want to do to you, Jackie. You’ve been such a terrible tease, leading me on like you have.” Jack opens his mouth to respond, but Gabriel shushes him before he can make a sound. “No, no, hush now, babe. No talking unless it’s to tap out, okay.” Jack swallows, nods, pupils dilating rapidly. Gabriel can feel the shiver that slides through his muscles, see how he lilts closer before righting himself. He’s just as worked up as Gabriel is. “I’d tell you to kneel for me, but your back’s playing up today, isn’t it?” At Jack’s nod of agreement, Gabriel tugs at him. “Well lie on the bed then, on your back. I’m going to fuck your face.”

It’s not Jack’s favourite thing in the world, Gabriel knows, but it’s something that he adores whenever Jack lets him do it. Jack’s little helpless noises, the way his eyes tear up — the way he lets Gabriel inside him, fights his own body as best he can to make it happen. Giving over control. It’s glorious to watch as well as to feel. Jack undresses quickly, methodically, before laying down, throwing his clothing into the hamper from his place between Gabriel’s thighs. Gabriel’s still dressed, and the contrast between the black leather of his pants and the pale skin of Jack’s thighs is heavenly. “Come on, then,” he goads, running his free hand up the outside of Jack’s thigh. “I don’t have all night.” Jack scowls at him, but with a twist to his lips that’s playful rather than actually displeased. 

And oh, he’s a picture, laid out across the bed like a marble statue. Moonlight comes through the window, splashing silvery lines across his face and chest, eyes shadowed and dark. Gabriel can’t resist, doesn’t want to resist curling himself over Jack’s broad, broad chest, knees settled in the hollows of his armpits. He’s warm, and flushed, and full of life. The most alive when they’ve shared a kill. Jack swallows, mouth opening as he stares at Gabriel’s cock, still fisted in his hand and framed by his pants. Focused solely on Gabriel, like he always should be. Gabriel tightens the muscles of his thighs, and gives Jack what he wants.

The first press into Jack’s heat is electric. Soft, and hot, it’s so much better than his own absent motions. He lets go, presses both his hands against the headboard as he cants his hips forward, pushing through Jack’s mouth and ever so slightly into his throat. Jack groans, and sound vibrates right up through Gabriel, before he squirms underneath him as he adjusts his position to get more comfortable. The muscles of his throat flutter convulsively, and Gabriel hisses, only just restraining himself from pushing further into that wet heat.

Tensing his thighs, he pulls back, already panting, self control fraying at the sight of Jack’s flush deepening across his cheeks. This time, when he pushes forwards, Jack’s ready, taking him deep and swallowing around him. He scrapes his teeth along the underside of Gabriel’s cock, and he can’t help but hiss, hips snapping forwards before he can think. Jack gags, and that’s delicious too, tight and rippling. “Fuck,” he hisses, pulling out just a little, letting Jack lap at the head of his cock while he wipes away the tears that have already collected in the corners of Jack’s eyes with his thumb. “You ready?” he asks, only just letting Jack nod before he starts to fuck Jack’s face in earnest.

Pleasure coils tighter and tighter with every press into Jack’s throat, every silvery tear dripping down Jack’s cheeks. He’s so beautiful like this, giving himself over to Gabriel so completely, heedless of his own enjoyment. Gabriel’s breath is rapid, pulse thundering in his ears but it’s too soon he doesn’t want to finish this so fast. He’s been waiting all day, he wants to make it last. So he slows his motions, drawing it out, pressing in fully until Jack’s nose is buried in dark curls, and running his fingers over the shape of his cock in Jack’s throat. His thighs tremble with the strain.

“Fuck,” he breathes again, and Jack whines, trying his best not to buck up and unseat Gabriel from on top of him. His lips are obscenely pink, swollen from use, stretched around Gabriel’s girth, his lashes wet and sparkling in the light. From particular little shudders of the bed, Gabriel can tell that Jack’s hard, humping the air futilely as Gabriel cuts off his oxygen. Gabriel wants to laugh, but doesn’t have the breath for it. His darling little masochist. He pulls out, just enough to watch Jack’s nostrils flare as he takes a breath, then slams back in. No more waiting. This time he starts up a rapid rhythm, fast enough he suspects Jack will have bruises on the corners of his mouth tomorrow, letting the coil inside him wind tighter and tighter. With a final thrust of his hips, and a bolt of pleasure so sharp it’s almost pain, Gabriel curses, snarls, and comes down Jack’s throat.

He’s panting as he sits back on Jack’s chest, letting the tingles of a fantastic orgasm pass through him. Closer to Jack’s hips, he can feel the little jerks of Jack’s muscles far better than before, and he takes pity on him, curling one hand around Jack’s throat and cutting off his air once again. “Touch yourself, babe,” he orders, letting Jack reach behind him to fist at his own cock. He lets Jack gasp uselessly for air until his eyelids start fluttering, then releases his grip for a few moments, before repeating the process. Again, and again. Jack’s body strains underneath him, heels digging into the mattress, the sounds in his throat breaking, high and sharp and desperate. Then he shudders violently, just once, and it’s like every bone in his body has turned to liquid. If he wasn’t already flat on his back, he’d be sinking to the floor right about now.

Gabriel rolls off him and strips, padding to their bathroom to quickly shower and grab a damp cloth to wipe Jack down with. By the time he gets back to the bedroom, Jack’s already asleep, right where Gabriel left him, snoring. Gabriel wipes him down with a fond snort, then settles in and pulls the blankets over them both. In the morning, Jack will wake first to fetch the eggs and tend to their flock before they start their day. They’ll make the drained blood from their most recent prey into black pudding, which should tide them over until the bacon is properly cut and cured. Gabriel doesn’t have classes, but does have marking, and Jack has a shipment of azaleas coming in. But that’s tomorrow. For now, they curl around each other in sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Jack and Gabriel are serial killers and cannibals, all the meat featured in this fic comes from people.


End file.
